


Zeal

by ninassield



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/M, Fantasy AU, Fluff and Angst, Genderbend, dragon!aomine, princess!kise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3436946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninassield/pseuds/ninassield
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aomine's not really a man, not really a dragon.<br/>He's a joke, a monster enforced to guard her and secure her eternal imprisonment.<br/>That's all there is to it, or so he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Magma

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a prompt by Ofibru, crossposted from my tumblr, [ninassield](http://ninassield.tumblr.com).  
> Please check the end notes for contingent clarifications!

He doesn't remember his true name, not that it matters much anymore, considering he doesn't _need_ his real denomination and he doesn't even _want_ one. He's been called in a boundless number of ways throughout his existence, each and single one unfailingly more ridiculous than the other - he can't say he minds, though.   
  
Truth be told, there's nothing much he  _can_  say or do, for that matter.   
Freedom's unquestionably not a part of his life, if the blurry combination of all the days he's endured is worthy of that label.  
  
His callous finger automatically moves to trace the cold iron collar snaking around his neck.  
  
It most definitely isn't, he concludes. It  _really_  isn't life.

* * *

 

  
His routine's been pretty much the same for a couple of centuries, which is fine, he guesses. As soon as the sun comes out, he spends every waking minute at his present Master's feet, guarding him like any loyal servant would do, fair and square.  
  
As he expertly navigates the countless aisles of the Rakuzan court, his mind starts drifting away from velvet carpets and stone walls, stroking the remote idea of breaking free for the umpteenth time.  
  
Nah.  
  
He doesn't expect things to change, he doesn't _like_ changing in the first place. The first and last development he ever witnessed was his capture, so really, he doesn't need any more thrilling events. What he  _really_  needs is a place to rest his head and a daily meal, screw freedom and justice and shit like that.  
   
The world's a messed up place, there sure as hell ain't room for ideals.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"We got her, Akashi-sama. She's being carried to the tower as we speak, Kaijou's army will probably need time to regroup anyway."  
His navy eyes left his Master's feet and slowly moved to inspect the man who just spoke, currently busy with adjusting his lens.  
He never really liked Midorima. Well, he never really liked  _anyone_ , but Midorima held a special golden place in his list of people  _to-hopefully-murder-in-the-future_. His long taped fingers coiled around a slender sword secured to his belt, and the way his nails scraped the material of his weapon as he spoke never failed to give him the chills.  
  
"I'm impressed, Shintarou. Your men were far more capable than expected."  
Akashi's voice felt like a silky stroke to his ears, just like every single time he opened his damn mouth. It was simply one of the collateral effects of being sired to a human. Practically speaking, he could either deal with it or die.   
  
" _Daiki._ "   
The sound of his current name darted right through his skull and nothing, absolutely  _nothing_  could've stopped his neck from snapping in his Master's direction, pupils wide and dull but extremely attentive nonetheless.  
  
"I'm afraid we'll have to part ways at this peculiar stage of the plan" Akashi continued, completely impassive at the way his servant reacted to his call.  
"As Shintarou just announced, we finally got our hands on the princess. I can only imagine Takeuchi's distress upon realising his daughter's disappearence."   
The calculating smirk engraved on his Master's sharp features as he spoke was wide,  _alarmingly_  wide.   
  
 _Is the thought of an anguished parent that funny to you?  
_  
Of course, Daiki couldn't voice his thoughts - that would've been plain stupid and, frankly, embarassingly useless.  
He settled for a generic nod instead, waiting for Akashi to keep on talking.  
"You're assigned to her custody. Keep her alive, but don't let her escape, are we clear?"  
"Yessir."  
"Excellent. Her father's a tough enemy, and so is Kaijou. Defend our cause, Daiki.  _Even if it kills you._ "  
  
 _I wish it could_ , he thought.   
 _I wish it could kill me._  
   
  


* * *

  
  
  
She's nothing like a princess.   
He expected her to be tiny and defenseless, but she's fierce and tall and proud. Her wavy hair's a waterfall of gold and long eyelashes frame honey orbs perfectly. She simply glimmers. She  _really_  does.  
Her pale face slowly turns to him once they've both been caged in that forsaken tower, fingers playing with a blond strand.  
"So, dragon-san, are you my guardian?"   
Her crystalline voice can almost rival his Master's. Almost.  
"Something like that.", he conceded.  
"You don't exactly look like a dragon. No offence."  
Wait a minute, is she... _smirking_?  
"I  _shapeshift_ , Hime-sama. It means that-"  
"I know what that means, dragon-san." she confidently interrupted him, clearly not afraid of the myriad of possible consequences.   
"Do you happen to have a name? I usually like to know who I'm dealing with."  
  
He's a dragon. A _dragon_ , for fuck's sake.  
He's supposed to be a majestic yet terrifying creature, not a babysitter, specifically not _her_  babysitter.   
He tries his utmost best not to groan and quickly ponders his options.   
There's the perversely appealing chance of incinerating her bright grin in half a second, of course; that would've been immensely satisfying, but also quite counterproductive.   
 _Nah_. He can handle a spoiled brat.  
  
"Daiki. Aomine Daiki."  
"Nice to meet you, Aominecchi. I'm-"  
"I don't care about your name, Hime-sama. And  _never_  call me  _that_  again"  
  
Her pout was absurdly dazzling.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Do that again, Aominecchi!" she sings, clapping her hands together in absolute delight.  
Barely holding back a sigh, Daiki complies.   
He focuses for a second, then does the most natural thing in the world: he  _breathes_. Except it's not air coming out of his lungs, no: it's a bright, vibrant blue flame. His fire's warm and deadly, just like the feeling he's slowly but steadily developing for his prisoner. Dammit.  
Daiki's reptilian eyes scan the room for the millionth time, desperately searching for a distraction. They both spent a whole month in that luxurious prison, and exception made for the obvious touch-ups demanded by the Princess, nothing really changed.   
The room was still circular, with a big rose window replacing the ceiling and functioning as the only source of light. It was decorated with expensive looking furniture, even a lucid white piano, which was of course  _categorically_  requested by _her_. As his mind processes the thought, his head spontaneously turns back to where she's sat, ungracefully crossing her legs on the big queen-sized bed.   
  
"You should stop scowling like that all the time, you know?"   
Daiki flinches at the musical chuckle following her statement and chooses to be quiet. Quiet was okay, quiet was  _safe_.  
Thing is, he was supposed to hate her, or, at the very least, tobarely _tolerate_  her. Those were his implicit orders, after all.   
Instead, Daiki somehow managed to _like_  her.  
  
Well, in his defense, he  _did_  try to give her the cold shoulder - he indeed tried very hard but, damn it all, she was simply too miraculously brilliant to handle.   
The sunlight radiating from her flawless skin melted his icy defenses and inescapably drilled its way into his heart of stone, gradually turning it back into the almost human organ it used to be; there _really_  was no use in denying that.  
  
 _What's done is done_ , he thinks as she shamelessly flaunts what's apparently supposed to be an imitation of his signature facial expression.  
Daiki shakes his head and looks right through the glass ceiling, eyes narrowing as he carefully inspects the sky.  
  
He once used to fly right through the clouds - he was exceptionally fast, too.  
 _It was nice_ , he remembers, feeling the breeze whistle in his nostrils as his tail twisted and naturally operated as a rudder.   
The same sky he's looking at from that prison used to be his home, his shelter, his sanctuary.   
  
Funny how things change, eh.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Humanity has been fighting for power since the dawn of times, maybe even earlier than that.  
  
There were fists at first, then fire, then weapons.  
Of course, when men cracked the delicate mechanism of coercing dragons into unconditional obedience, they didn't waste that chance either.   
Clear as crystal, really.   
  
Some of his kind were brave enough to die free and on their own terms, but many others chose to live the rest of their everlong life as humans, walking among them and learning how to appreciate their culture.   
Although Daiki  _tried_  to do that, it only took a few years of forced cloaking for every single fiber of his being to scream in protest. He couldn't restrain his wings from spreading, he couldn't give up the thrill of wind and fire and utter flexibility. He lived and ached for that, it was simply the way he fit into the world. Could anyone honestly blame him?  
  
No, he wasn't going to let humans take that away from him.  
And so he finally shifted and flew for a glorious, incredible moment.  
  
 _Freedom_.  
  
Then everything went black.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
"Any news from the west frontline, Shintarou?"  
"Takeuchi still refuses to call back his attack, Akashi-sama. He apparentely wishes to retrieve his daughter himself."  
Akashi's eyes pierced through Midorima's, relentlessly searching for any sign of weakness. It was a test, a very crucial one.   
Be as it may, his subordinate was smart enough to stay still and proudly withstand his gaze, barely blinking.   
Evidently satisfied with the charade, Rakuzan's king sighed and slowly stood up, cracking his neck with elegant nonchalance.  
"Daiki's taking care of the Princess, Takeuchi knows it fairly well. He won't get close to the tower. Not yet."  
Shintarou's fingers curled around his sword, a mechanical tic he never quite managed to get rid of. Akashi's focus immediately reacted to the movement and jerked right to his hand with inhuman velocity, causing Midorima to swallow back a gasp.  
  
"This isn't my concern, Akashi-sama, but...why didn't you attempt to hide its location? It would've been easier to defend-"  
"Precisely, Shintarou. This isn't your concern. Not in the slighest." Akashi concurred, a sly smile firmly sculpted into his features.   
"Of course my Lord, I'm deeply-"  
"Humans are easy to predict, Shintarou"   
Akashi's voice ricocheted against the tall ceilings of the sumptuos room before Midorima's apology could be accomplished.  
The taller man didn't seem to mind, though. No one could've ever expressed reprisal for the King's behaviour anyway.  
On the other hand, Akashi kept on talking, completely oblivious to his underling's attempt at speaking.  
"Takeuchi knows where his daughter is, therefore his main intention will be reaching that place, no matter what it takes. He's going to abandon Kaijou's court to lead the infantry. The castle's going to be  _defenseless_."  
  
Midorima's eyes widened as he inhaled sharply, slowly taking in the realisation.  
"You plan on overthrowing the castle _in his absence_? But sir, what about the soldiers assaulting the tower? They'll try rescuing the princess and with Aomine there...it's definitely going to be a carnage, my Lord."  
  
Akashi's hand slowly reached for his chin as he walked in circles, supposedly lost in thought.  
  
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded like distilled cyanide.  
  
"What's a couple of men to a dragon, my curious friend?"  
"I understand that well, Akashi-sama, although I must say Kaijou's people and their retaliation will be hard to suppress. Those soldiers have families, they won't let their slaughter go unpunished. Can our army really face that threat?"  
  
"It undoubtedly cannot, which is why I must ask you  _again,_  what's a couple of men to a dragon?" Akashi patiently replied, motioning back to his rightful spot on the throne. He sat down and unimpressedly rested a cheek on his palm, closing his eyes.  
  
Midorima's figure jolted in place, taped fingers shaking in horror.  
"You want to unleash Aomine... _against the people_?"  
  
"Daiki doesn't care about human lives, Shintarou. His nature hasn't changed since birth: he wants them to _burn_."


	2. Scintilla

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Ryouta takes a step towards what she's sure is utter oblivion.

Kaijou’s court can only be described as  _massive_.  
  
The impressive fortress is situated on the Plain of Kanagawa, encircled by the natural defense of green hills and unbridged rivers. It’s a luxurious position, a costant warranty for fertile harvest and merry atmosphere.   
Many rightfully labelled it  _Earthly Paradise_ : a place to mend souls and bathe in the sweet scent of peace, utter and quiet tranquillity.  
  
  
It reallyis a small piece of Heaven.  
  
  
It used to be, at least.  
  
  
Things change, things  _unescapably_ change, and Kaijou’s white sheets became bloodstained in the blink of an eye.  
  
  
Akashi Seijuro swayed a giant axe over the kingdom, ripping its princess from her home and taking the King’s heart and sanity away with her.  
It wasn’t just a blatant challenge nor the usual mischief practice going on between opponent realms; it was part of a plan schemed meticulously, thought in painstaking detail and orchestrated by none other than the most dangerous man walking this Earth, the red nightmare of Rakuzan, who’s said to have the fire of a dragon at his disposal and clearly isn’t compassionate enough to hesitate - every man knows it fairly well.  
  
Akashi Seijuro is ready to incinerate everyone’s life in the fraction of a heartbeat, but even still... _even still_ , Takeuchi’s far too broken and blinded by miserable rage to act and fight back.   
  
  
Kaijou isn’t weak, it never was.  
Its colossal army, the Blue Elites, can be easily portrayed as an immense tidal wave of immesurable force, able to wipe away any menace foolish enough to oppose it with their legendary power of will and sense of membership.   
They’re nothing but a well-oiled machine, that much can’t possibly be doubted.  
  
  
They have a chance.  
  
  
Even against the ancient fury of a dragon,  _they have a chance_.  
  
  
With that thought solidy anchored to his mind, Kasamatsu Yukio marches towards the Throne Room, the steel of his shining armor resonating loudly with every movement and his blue cap dancing behind him like a trascendent godly aura.  
  
  
He casually bows his head to greet fellow generals guarding the opulent hall without ever moving his focus from the iron gate he’s progressively getting closer to, icy eyes narrow and nostrils unnaturally dilated.  
  
  
He stops abruptly when his stormy gaze is met by a tall, lean man tensing up upon his arrival.  
  
  
  
“Open the door, Moriyama.”  
  
  
  
His good friend and underling, Moriyama Yoshitaka, jolts at the characteristically stern command.  
  
  
  
“Kasamatsu-san, the King would like to be left alone-”  
  
  
  
“Open the door.  _Now_.”  
  
  
  
With an exasperated sigh, Moriyama complies.  
  
  
  
“Don’t be too harsh, Kasamatsu. He’s still your King.”  
  
  
  
“That’s precisely why I need to be harsh.”  
  
  
  
His tone didn’t leave any room for retaliation. _  
_

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I don’t really know how these things are supposed to work, but shouldn’t your father be looking for you or something,  _Hime-sama_?”  
  
  
Ryouta blinks a few times, taken aback by her guardian’s sudden interest in her situation. Truth be told, he hardly ever showed any sign of interest in her  _at all_ , let alone her family or prisoner status - it’s obviously endearing, but quite concerning as well.  
  
  
Her fingers, previously busy flying on the piano keys, freeze in place as her honey eyes find Aomine’s, who is currently delineating the lines of his collar as he always does whenever he feels too exposed, too bare.  
  
  
She can’t help but wonder about the story hidden behind that circle of iron, strangling him ever so slightly and marking him as what he is, a  _slave_.  
Granted, she questioned it every single day spent in that golden prison,  but her unusual companion adamantly refused to reply, consequentially denying her desire for contact and connection - that’s what Ryouta truly wants, that’s what she’ll always wish for when it comes to Aomine Daiki.  
  
  
  
“I’m sure he’s working on that, Aominecchi.”  


  
“Told you not to call-- you know what? Nevermind. You’ll keep on doing that anyway.”  


  
Aomine’s supposed frustration is somehow charming, just like the way he rolls his deep sapphire eyes and lifts his arms in the air in a half-hearted attempt of protest. Very charming indeed.  
  
  
Theoretically speaking, Ryouta’s biggest care  _as of now_  should be her freedom.  
She’s locked in a tower in the middle of God knows where, in the lone company of a shapeshifting, flamethrowing dragon whose main occupation is scoffing at her witty remarks and snoring in his sleep.

  
  
One could probably describe her situation as...well,  _complicated_ , but be that as it may, Ryouta doesn’t see it that way, not one bit.

  
  
No, her practical worry lies  _entirely_  in Aomine’s cobalt hair, the tan bronze of his skin, the intricate multitude of scars and burns decorating his arms and neck, marking his body like constellations painting the night sky.   
  
  
That’s the only thing that matters to her.  
  
**Thump.  
**  
  
_Ah, there it is again_.  
  
  
Ryouta sighs, right hand automatically reaching to clutch at her chest to try and estinguish the spark punctually lit up by Aomine’s sole presence.  
  
  
Costant fire, costant burning.  
  
  
Her mind spins almost mechanically, a powerful engine travelling back to the first time he showed her the hypnotizing blue of his flames, boiling and lethal.  
  
  
She wasn’t scared.  
She still isn’t.  
She will never be.  
  
  
Everything is as clear as the sunlight dancing on Aomine’s back.  
  
  
Her feelings are a promise for destruction, a horrifying slaughter waiting to happen, a definitive death sentence she brought upon herself.  
  
  
It didn’t just happen, that’d be simply ludicrous.  
  
  
Ryouta’s still untainted, that’s true, but she’s experienced her fair portion of feelings throughout her life. She’s not new to love, not remotely, and she knows how to tame and harness the heat of passion better than most people.   
She’s a calculator, a survivor, someone who could manipulate her way out of any sort of dangerous setting - she  _has_  to be - and yet all things considered, she’s completely defenseless when it comes to Aomine.   
  
  
He doesn’t treat her as anything other than what she is,  _who_  she is.  
Aomine snorts at her demands and shakes his head whenever she opens her mouth, but still makes sure her feet are covered by the heavy velvet blankets at night.   
  
  
He doesn’t guard her, he  _takes care_ of her.  
  
  
That’s why Ryouta  _chose_  to let her heart fall deeper and deeper into the navy of his eyes, that’s why she willingly let her soul be conquered by the unbelievable violence hidden behind Aomine’s stare.   
  
  
She’s his, she’s unquestionably his, and he probably doesn’t even want her.  
  
  
She can’t bring herself to suppress it either way.  
  
  
  
“Aominecchi.”  
  
  
  
Aomine stands up and walks to the center of the room, tilting his head back to have a better view of the glass ceiling. He takes a deep breath and looks through the transparent surface, staring at it with unbelievable fierceness, as if he’s trying to establish some sort of cosmic connection with the sunset.   
  
  
The light is getting weaker and weaker, but Ryouta doesn’t mind.  
She’s beyond fond of the way the orange tones of the dying sun enhance the blue of Aomine’s hair, after all.  
  
  
  
“It’s getting pretty dark outside, huh?” he says slowly, rolling every word on his tongue before voicing it.  
  
  
  
Ryouta doesn’t look at the sky, doesn’t leave his sharp features for a second, and instead motions towards him with the confidence that charachterized her since birth.  
  
  
  
“ _Aominecchi_.” she tries again, more firmly this time.  
  
  
  
Aomine lowers his gaze and focuses on her, brows furrowed in what she’s sure is a state of confused concentration.   
  
  
  
“What?” his voice comes out gruff and sharp, but his eyes don’t match the stern tone he mustered. They never do.  
  
  
She’s in front of him within a couple of quick strides, soft hands planted on his muscular chest. It’s just as warm as she expected it to be.  
  
  
  
“Do you have scars here too, Aominecchi?”   
  
  
  
Ryouta expects him to laugh, roll his eyes, maybe even push her away and flicker a couple of azure embers right under her nose, but none of her predictions resemble Aomine’s reaction.   
  
  
His eyes widen, his adam apple bobs, and he starts shaking.  
  
  
Aomine Daiki, fireproof dragon and undefeatable death machine,  _starts shaking_.  
  
  
  
“Aom--”  
  
  
  
“What are you doing, Princess?” he questions, evidently still unable to properly process her actions.  
  
  
  
“I don’t know.” she simply replies, and her insides twist when she realizes how true that is.  
  
  
  
There was a time when she knew how to navigate every situation, but that version of her is unquestionably long gone now.  
No amount of social experience can be used in Aomine’s presence, not when he’s so magnificently strong and bright and proud and  _everything_.  
  
  
She wisely opts for a not so comfortable silence then, mirroring her guardian’s lack of words. When Aomine finally does speak though, his voice is considerably softer than usual.  
  
  
  
“Your tale ends well, Princess.”    
  
  
  
“So does yours.” Ryouta stubbornly counters, clenching her fingers around the material of Aomine’s tunic and holding his gaze proudly, hardly blinking.  
  
  
  
“I’m afraid it doesn’t.” he observes gingerly.  
  
  
His tone reminds her of the way her nanny used to lull her whenever the passing of her mother came to haunt her dreams, and she suddenly feels torn between nostalgia and frustration.  
  
  
  
“Aominecchi,  _listen to me_.”  
  
  
  
“No, Hime-sama,  _you_  listen to  _me,_ ” Aomine’s hands burn as they engulf her wrists, and although his strenght is enough to snap her spine in a fluid movement, his grip is surprisingly gentle. Ryouta’s cheeks darken at the tenderness he saves for her,  _only for her_.  
  
  
  
“I’m a different story.”   
  
  
  
  
  
None of them dares to say anything else for the rest of the night.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Kasamatsu, as the head of Kaijou’s army, you should show respect--”  
  
  
  
“My respect and loyalty are reserved to King Takeuchi,  _sir_. The man sitting on that throne right now is someone I’m not longer able to recognize.”  
  
  
  
Kasamatsu knows he’s standing right in front of a downfall, but there isn’t any other choice he can pick. It’s either this or his home’s demise.  
  
Takeuchi, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to share his ardent desire to protect their kingdom anymore. His eyes are dull, glassy, lifeless beyond repair.  
Losing a child can easily break the strongest of men, his sovereign’s pain is the ultimate testament to that all time low.  
Kasamatsu can’t help but shudder at the thought.  
  
  
“Princess Ryouta wouldn’t want any of us to give up, sir. She’d want us to keep fighting, she’d be the first to think of a winning strategy--”  
  
  
  
“Princess Ryouta is imprisoned in that forsaken tower with a firethrowing dragon who’s ready to burn her alive, Kasamatsu. Do you think I, as a father, care about your winning strategies?!”   
  
  
  
The King stands up from his silver throne in a second, holding his scepter so tight his knuckles go white in a second. The Captain of Kaijou’s troops inspects the way he seems to come alive at the mention of his precious daughter and can’t help but nod confidently, azure eyes burning with strenghtened determination.  
  
  
“I understand perfectly my Lord, and that is exactly why we need to organize a counter action. As long as Akashi needs our focus to be on the tower, he won’t have the dragon attack the Princess, or Kaijou for that matter.” Kasamatsu reasons, waiting to have Takeuchi’s undivided attention before continuing.  
  
  
The King seems to have enough energy left to lend him a ear, which only serves as fuel for his fighting spirit.   
  
  
“What are you suggesting?”  
  
  
  
“We can’t possibly handle Rakuzan’s army and the dragon at once sir, that much is obvious. However, I  _do_  reckon we can take that monster down if it’s alone, no matter what the red nightmare thinks. He underestimates us greatly, Your Majesty.”  
  
  
  
“So you want to attack the tower, you want  _the whole army_ to attack the tower. But I must ask you, Kasamatsu, what about Kaijou’s defense? Akashi will likely use that chance to take the castle. He surely predicted that move already.”   
  
  
  
The mention of Akashi’s name is enough to fill the room with polluted air as venom drips from every words spoken by the King. The atmosphere gets remarkably thicker and it weights down on Kasamatsu’s shoulders, but he doesn’t crumble.   
  
  
He’s endured inhuman trainings for decades now, he’s been through fire and hurricanes and seas of blood.  
There’s no way he can surrender now.   
Absolutely no way.  
  
  
“We won’t leave it defenseless, sir. Seirin owes us a favour, doesn’t it? Queen Riko is a wise woman, she’ll be perfectly able to handle Rakuzan’s legions while we take care of the dragon. Once his demon is out of the equation, Akashi will succumb. Not even Rakuzan’s generals can handle two armies at once, my Lord.”  
  
  
  
Takeuchi’s pale complexion starts to gain his former colour, understanding snaking in his mind like a very much needed balm.   
  
  
“That could work. That could actually work, Kasamatsu.”  
  
  
  
“Shall I send our ambassadors to Seirin’s court then, my King?”   
  
  
  
“Go ahead. It shouldn’t take more than three days.” Takeuchi concedes, waving him off with newly found imperiosity. His eyes are starting to burn with their signature heat once again, a greatly appreciated quality he’d passed to his beloved daughter.  
  
  
Kasamatsu’s heels bump together as his back straightens in a second, arm jerking up to execute the saluting position he knows so well.   
  
  
  
Game on. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering:
> 
> In this universe men found a way to tame and force dragons into unconditional obedience, therefore Aomine's will is directly tied to Akashi's.  
> Aomine's able to shapeshift, which is why he's been protayed with human traits.  
> Also yes, Akashi's the king of Rakuzan realm while Takeuchi reigns on Kaijou's county.  
> Let's just say every powerhouse has been converted into a specific dominion, eheh.


End file.
